


Relaxation Techniques

by caffeinekitty



Category: Free!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinekitty/pseuds/caffeinekitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haruka doesn’t look any worse for wear as he pads silently into the room. Neither does he sound out of breath as he glances in Makoto’s direction, blinks, and says, “You’re still awake.”</p>
<p>Post Ep.11 hotel shenanigans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relaxation Techniques

For a while after Haruka leaves, Makoto wonders whether he should follow; it’s not Iwatobi, after all, and they’ll all be in trouble if Haruka gets into any. Nightmare scenarios – only slightly exaggerated – run through his head: arrests for public indecency; Haruka banned from tomorrow’s tournament because he decided that ‘authorized personnel only’ sign was more guideline than hard and fast rule. Makoto can hear him now, stone-faced as he explains to the event organizers that clearly he has authorization because he’s there to swim. 

_I don’t think the water is allowed to hand out security clearance, Haru…_

But the worry is all… well, _mostly_ in his head. He knows Haruka won’t do anything stupid, not with something as important to him as tomorrow’s race at stake. Makoto said as much to the others that night after the prefectural tournament, and while his decision to say anything at all might’ve been coloured by the need to avert outright panic, it didn’t make it any less true. 

Haru isn’t that weak. Haru can look after himself. 

Which is why, when he reminds himself that if Haruka had _wanted_ him to tag along he’d have said so, he’s left staring into the quiet, comfortable half-dark of their hotel room, replaying those words in his head. 

_“Thank you.”_

It’s not as though he’s never heard those words before. Haruka might not be the most talkative person in the world, but he’s always had that odd knack of knowing when words were necessary. Makoto’s not sure whether it’s just a by-product of spending so much time with someone like Haru, but sometimes he thinks they’re less necessary than people imagine. 

Even if most of the time Makoto’s not sure what he’s done to warrant gratitude, he’s still fluent in the impressive catalogue of nods and hums and glances that express Haru’s feelings on a daily basis. There’s the way Haruka will watch expectantly before accepting his half of a popsicle, the quiet nod of appreciation before opening his bento, the imperceptible shiver of relief that seems to turn him as liquid and fluid as the water the second he dives into the pool, the way he’ll look away and sigh any time Makoto does or says something annoying. It’s not that Haru’s taciturn or inexpressive, it’s just that it takes a while to understand what all the subtle signals mean. 

Now and then, he’s amazed that someone like Haru tolerated him long enough to let him learn. 

And for just a second, he’s twelve again, back in that Iwatobi Swim Club locker room, bracing himself for Haruka’s weary disdain for nagging him about doing too much too soon after recovering from his influenza. He couldn’t quite articulate it then, hadn’t yet had that moment of shocking, soothing awareness that everything about him was an open book to the other boy, so there was no way of explaining that what he feared wasn’t Haru swimming when his fever hadn’t quite gone down, it wasn’t Haru being reckless, it wasn’t Haru doing anything wrong. More than the water, more than dark, unknown things, what Makoto had feared was losing him. 

But he thinks Haruka probably understood it even when he didn’t, because he can still feel the way he felt back then when slender fingers brushed his shoulder and the unexpected murmur of “Thank you,” brushed his ears. 

He can still feel it because it’s exactly the way he feels now. 

Almost exactly. Back then he couldn’t explain why the gesture – grand and dramatic on the Haru-scale – meant as much as it did either. 

He knows now. Quiet little ripples of it reverberate even when he’s doing the stupidest things. When he’s winding the cord on the game controllers, or yielding to the temptation and breathing in the ghost of a scent on his shirt before tossing it into the laundry. When he’s sitting in the sunshine on those stone steps, or when he’s feeding his new goldfish. 

When he’s watching Haru, when he’s seeing a softness in those blue eyes that he’s not sure he can ever remember seeing before, that’s when it’s a tidal wave, and for once Makoto isn’t terrified of being dragged under. He’s been swept away for a very long time, he thinks, sinking deeper into something bottomless and unfathomable, and it might not have always been comfortable but he’s never been afraid. Not that bad kind of afraid; his fears have always been bittersweet, because even if they’d come true then at least Haru would still be happy. 

And that’s all that matters when all’s said and done. 

He doesn’t realize how much time must have passed until he hears the soft scrape of the lock and the creak of the door handle. 

Haruka doesn’t look any worse for wear as he pads silently into the room. Neither does he sound out of breath as he glances in Makoto’s direction, blinks, and says, “You’re still awake.”

Makoto offers an apologetic smile. “Ah, yeah…”

Haru sits down on the other bed, facing away from him. There’s still a little tension in the lines of his back, but his shoulders slope lower and the muscles beneath his t-shirt are more relaxed. “Sorry.”

“Eh? A-ah, no it’s not your fault…! I wasn’t worried or anything.”

There’s a quiet shush of fabric as Haru turns to glance over his shoulder. Something about the expression reminds Makoto of all those deliberate, pointed looks Haru gave him before the training camp. ‘I know you’re not telling me everything’, that look says, ‘but I’ll let it slide for now.’

But it’s always been that way. Haru can lay him bare with just a glance, and Makoto isn’t even sure that he realizes it. It’s a scary and overwhelming thing when you think about it, but it’s never occurred to him to worry. There’s no fear of a dark, malevolent unknown when he’s putting his faith in Haruka. 

So he doesn’t admit he might’ve been worried, at least not in as many words. Just asks, “Are you okay?” as meekly as he can get away with, watching Haru’s shoulders shake in what could be a soundless snort of amusement or a sigh of disappointment or anything in between. 

“I’m fine. I only ran a couple of blocks, then I ran into Nagisa.”

That none of them have food poisoning makes Makoto wonder whether running into Nagisa and ‘fine’ necessarily go together. “Did he make you eat anything weird?” 

Definitely a quiet laugh this time. “No.”

“It must be a big deal if Nagisa can’t sleep. He’ll usually sleep through any…” Makoto pauses, clearly sleepier than he thought he was when it takes a few moments for his brain to catch up. “Wait, why are you all wandering around in the middle of the night!?”

Clearly not considering himself part of ‘all’ – or maybe because his reasons for absconding from the hotel aren’t something he wants to talk about – Haruka shakes his head. “He was looking for Rei.”

“Huh? Is everything okay?”

“Nagisa didn’t seem all that worried.”

“Well, that’s…” Makoto laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck before sobering. “Shouldn’t we be out looking for him too? I mean, after everything that’s been going on lately…”

“He’ll be fine.” Haruka leans back slightly on his hands, face upturned. “He won’t do anything stupid this time.” 

‘Because tomorrow matters too much’ hovers silently in the space between their beds, and he wonders what Haru might say if he knew Makoto had just been thinking the same thing about him. And while Rei might have done some reckless things in the past, Makoto hesitates to call any of it ‘stupid’ when he knows how much it means. 

Besides… he could have done without the whole almost-drowning-on-deserted-island-training-camps-from-hell part, but that night gave him so much more in exchange, he thinks he probably should be thanking Rei instead. 

Of course, it could just be that Rei has a thing for extra training in the middle of the night. Either way, it’s a surprise that Nagisa let the other boy out of his sight for more than ten seconds. It’s a surprise he didn’t offer to help. And if Rei didn’t even tell Nagisa what was going on…

_It’s eleven o’clock: do you know where the members of your swim club are? Mostly missing and/or on the loose in a strange town, possibly trying to murder rival teams with melon bread, no big deal._

_…I’m the worst captain in the world._

Head bowed, and his knees drawn up, he must have made a sound suspiciously like a miserable whimper, because Haruka’s voice is a little bit louder, as though he’s turned to look Makoto’s way. “Nagisa said he’d send a message when he finds him. And it’s not really that late anyway.”

“Ah, I suppose you’re right, but still…” Makoto glances at the shadowed hallway. 

“He’ll be fine. And if anyone’s kidnapped either of them, it won’t be long before they bring them back.”

“Haru!” Haruka looks at his aghast reaction, deadpan. Makoto huffs out a resigned sigh. “You’re supposed to worry about your teammates going missing.”

“They’re not missing. Besides,” the sheets rustle as Haruka gets back into bed, “Nagisa’s better at dealing with that sort of thing than I am. I was getting in his way, that’s why I came back.”

Since Nagisa would _never_ think Haruka was getting in the way, Makoto suspects it had more to do with Nagisa being Nagisa and embarrassing Haru senseless. For some reason he pictures hugs. 

Laughing a little, he watches their distorted reflection in the black TV screen as he tries to make himself comfortable again. 

“Would you look for me if I went missing?” 

Haruka shrugs matter-of-factly. “You wouldn’t.”

Makoto smiles. _No, not if I can help it._ “But if I did, would you?” 

The silence drags on just long enough for Makoto’s brow to twitch and his ego start pointing at him and laughing. He’s just about to say “Forget it,” or apologize for asking something thoughtless, when Haruka rolls over to stare up at the ceiling.

“If you did, you’d have dragged me along somehow anyway. But you’d probably be good at getting us _un_ missing, so…” When he glances over, Haruka’s eyes are closed but there’s a faint scrape of red across his cheeks. “It’d be okay, either way.” 

_Haru…_

They really should be trying to sleep, but Makoto’s just as content gazing at the lines of Haruka’s profile. In the lamp-glow it’s just smooth angles of light and shadow. His lashes look dark and sooty against pale skin, jaw a little too tense to convince anyone he’s actually sleeping. And Makoto’s never once coveted Haruka’s skills in the pool, but right now he’s so envious of Haru’s artistic skills that his fingers twitch with the need to capture what he sees. 

He considers reaching for his phone and trying to sneak a photo, but Haru would probably never speak to him again. 

Instead he just smiles at the silence, grateful he gets to see it at all. Grateful that he’s the one allowed to be here right now. 

“Are you still nervous?” 

Haruka’s words stir him from his thoughts, almost as quiet and monotone as the occasional muffled hush of late-night traffic on the street outside. “About what?”

“Being by ourselves in the hotel.”

Forget the hotel; there are times he feels like he’s by himself with Haruka on the entire planet. 

“Ah, it’s just like being at your house, right? If it was mine, we’d be waiting for Ren or Ran to crash into the door on the way to the bathroom or something…”

Except there’s a comfortable familiarity about being at Haruka’s place, one that almost makes him feel horrifically guilty for feeling… well, other things. Something about that house, one that’s as much a home to him as his own, just across the stone steps, is almost _too_ intimate, too overpoweringly Haruka’s space that Makoto’s terrified of doing something wrong to ruin it all.

Haru doesn’t have the same problem. For all his quirks, Haru’s awfully practical when the need arises. 

…and that’s really not what Makoto needs to be thinking about right now. 

Tomorrow, he reminds himself, gritting his teeth to bite back a whine and mentally slapping himself. The tournament. The relay. AWOL team-mates. Death by snacks. Nothing that involves anything arising, nope…

When he turns this time he’s starting right into bright, deep blue eyes, and all his best intentions melt away. 

“Haru…”

“Makoto,” Haruka says, tone and expression grave and solemn. “I still can’t sleep.”

He smiles in spite of the blush that’s probably beacon-bright in the dim light, and sits up, pushing back the sheets as he turns to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Neither can I.”

His throat’s dry and his heart’s pounding as he watches Haruka climb out of the other bed with an easy grace, cast in silhouette for a moment as he pauses between the beds, and in a movement Makoto’s seen many times directed at water – and sometimes directed at himself – tugs off his shirt so deftly it’s almost impossible to see how and when it happened. 

“It’s probably sweaty from the run,” he explains, as though Makoto’s got the wherewithal to argue. 

As though Makoto has the wherewithal to do much beyond nod, swallowing hard and feeling the heat bloom under his skin as he reaches out, hands settling on Haruka’s waist. It’s funny how he gets to see this almost every day, but it’s only when he can touch, only when he can stroke his thumbs over the sharp juts of the other boy’s hip bones and watch the shallow rise and fall of Haru’s chest when Makoto leans in to kiss the trembling muscles of his stomach that it feels real. Only then does it ever hit him that he’s the one Haru’s chosen. 

Someone like Haruka could have the world if he wanted it. He could have more than Iwatobi. He could have more than Makoto. 

But this is Haruka’s choice, and ever since that night and the moment he watched the lights of the festival dawn and shine in Haruka’s eyes, Makoto’s decided to cast away any lingering insecurities. 

Because Haru’s not that weak. Because Haru doesn’t speak that earnestly and passionately unless it’s important. And because ever since that night there’s been a lightness to Haruka’s smile, and they come a little more easily than they used to, and Makoto believes in that more than he believes in anything else. 

“Hey, Haru…”

He feels slender fingers card through his hair. “Mmm?”

“I’m glad we get to swim together. Whatever happens tomorrow, as long as I get to swim with you then…” He muffles his smile against Haruka’s skin, holding on tight enough that he almost pulls them both off balance. “I feel like I’ve won already.”

He expects a soft chiding for saying something so corny, but Haruka just draws back a little to look down at him, eyes a night-sky navy in the lamplight. 

“Yeah.” 

And this is the best prize in the world, he thinks. Not Haruka himself, because Haru can’t even be caught let alone owned like some trophy, and the thought of a creature this free being trapped – by anything, by anyone – makes Makoto feel like crying. 

No, just _this_. 

Haruka’s grip on his hair tightens as Makoto presses a line of open-mouthed butterfly kisses from defined obliques to navel. When Makoto chuckles and blows softly on the sheen of moisture he’s left behind, Haru makes an uncertain sound in the back of his throat.

“What are you doing…?”

Makoto looks up, brows quirking and nose crinkling in a grin. “Getting you wet.”

The tug on his hair isn’t all that vicious, and he can hear the small smile in the murmur of, “Idiot.” 

“Mmm,” he agrees, doing it again just because. 

He looks up as Haruka’s hands frame his face, leaning down to bump his forehead against Makoto’s. 

Next thing he knows, he’s pushed flat on his back on the mattress with a thump, head bracketed by Haruka’s hands and that vivid blue gaze peering down at him with an intensity that makes him shiver. Carefully, he smoothes his hands along Haru’s sides, feeling the faintest flex of muscle beneath the velvety skin. 

“Haru…?” 

He doesn’t expect an answer, and Haruka duly complies. He also ducks his head, his bangs tickling Makoto’s shoulder as his lips work their way over his collarbone, the side of his neck, his jaw. Makoto’s unguarded giggle earns him a dirty look – “I’m sorry, Haru, it just tickles!” – but Haruka still lets him loop his arms around his shoulders, sighing softly just before Makoto closes the scant distance between them, lips touching in a chaste, feathery kiss. 

It's always tentative, like he's half expecting Haruka to change his mind. It doesn't matter how many times they've done it, it doesn't matter how many times they _will_ do it, there's still a part of Makoto that's so blindsided by the awareness he's kissing Haru that it takes his breath away. He's sinking, he's willingly drowning but instead of cold and dark and frightening, it's warm and soft and _safe_. 

That's what Haruka's always been, and Makoto's tried to reciprocate as best he can, even though he's not as strong, or as brave, or as competent. He's scared of way too many things, and he's always half-convinced that the world is mostly spinning out of his control no matter how hard he tries to hang on, but all he wants is for Haru to feel the way Makoto does every time he remembers the other boy's there. All he wants is for Haru to know there's something he'll never have to be afraid of, something that'll always be there as long as Haruka needs him to be. 

Sometimes he still worries that Haru thinks he's an idiot, that it was just a kiss and Makoto shouldn't make such an embarrassingly big deal out of it every time. But then those thin fingers will clench into his shirt, or dig into his shoulders like Haru's the one afraid of being swept away, those dark lashes will flutter against his cheek and the kiss will be filled with quiet, hungry little noises Makoto's fairly sure he's not making. And he'll think that maybe Haruka figured all this out before he did too.

His hands skim up the bare, muscled plane of Haru's back, feeling the warm skin shiver under his touch. He’s not sure which one of them deepens the kiss – whether it’s Haruka gasping even at Makoto’s hesitant explorations, or himself sighing at the way Haru pushes closer, legs tangling and thighs interlocking with a clumsy sort of precision. 

He’s never been drunk, but he thinks it probably feels like this. Haruka's mouth is making him lightheaded and breathless, because he doesn't want to _stop_ , doesn't want to let go for a second. The messy, not-quite-enough friction of jersey and soft-worn cotton makes him feel weirdly disconnected from his body even while he's more aware of it than ever. Just a few uncoordinated rubs and they're both hard, the pants and shorts they'd worn to bed more uncomfortable than they should've been. And he knows they can't do more than this tonight, but he still presses closer, still wants to be buried in Haruka as much as their circumstances will let him. 

"Haru…" he breathes, when his lungs are burning and it's either break the kiss or pass out and Makoto still isn't sure he's made the right choice. "Haru…" 

More than being immersed in the water, it's like Haru's hands are everywhere at once: skimming under his t-shirt and kneading the muscles of his chest; in his hair, making his scalp tingle; squirming beneath the waistband of his shorts and—

"Haru…!" 

"It's too late to do anything else." Haruka shrugs, and Makoto struggles to keep up as the other boy shifts a little lower on the mattress, taking most of the sheets with him and leaving Makoto with an embarrassing view of the erection tenting his shorts. Haru doesn't look embarrassing though, even when he's kneeling between Makoto's spread thighs, the front of his own pants pulled taut. Haru just looks the way he always looks – single-minded, fearless, beautiful. 

Makoto shakes his head, determined. “But you’re swimming tomorrow.”

Haruka isn’t even knocked off his stride, fingers hooking under the waist of Makoto’s shorts and tugging. “So are you.” 

If there’s a balance to be struck between wantonly raising his hips to help Haruka out and squirming and blushing like a maiden on her wedding night, Makoto thinks he’s probably nailing it right now. The merest graze of Haru’s fingertips over his hips makes him shiver, a sheen of sweat breaking out between his shoulder-blades. 

“Haru…”

He should stop before they go too far, but there’s a disconnect between his mind and his body when Haruka looks up at him like that, blue eyes dark and serious and the blush stark on pale skin before he glances to one side. 

“It’s your fault.”

“Eh? But Haru—”

“If you’d been asleep when I got back,” Haruka mutters under his breath, “then I could’ve forgotten about it.” 

Makoto feels his jaw go slack at that. He'd known Haru left because of the conversation they'd been having, and that had been unbearably cute enough, but… 

Haruka takes advantage of his daze, tugging his shorts down to mid thigh, and even if Makoto wanted to argue his body betrays him. He catches just a glimpse of his cock springing up eagerly from the confines of the fabric before hiding his face behind his forearm and choking back a whimper. 

“Don’t do that.”

“B-but it’s—Haru, w-wait!” 

His hips jerk at the first squeeze of Haruka’s fingers, cool skin reminding Makoto of just how feverish he feels. He can't bite back the sounds reverberating in his throat, or keep his knees from trying to press together instinctively, clinging to the jolt of sensation. All that does is squeeze his thighs against Haruka’s hips and send an ache of tension up between his legs. And he only realizes he's no longer hiding his face when he's a gasping, panting mess under the scrutiny of laser blue eyes. 

Haruka watches him solemnly, but there’s a certain wicked gleam in his eyes. “Made you look.”

“Haru!”

But now that he is looking, he can’t look away. He shudders as Haru strokes him again, fingers looking pale as they band around the darkly flushed shaft, and the breath stills in his chest as he watches the other boy lower his head, pink tongue darting out to lick him. Haru licks his lips, mumbles, “Salty,” and Makoto isn’t sure how he doesn’t just come then and there. 

He’s not sure whether he’s laughing or groaning. Both are good, he decides. “I’m not mackerel, Haru…”

Haruka glares past a blush as he lowers his head again. “Shut up.” 

He has to; it's really hard to keep talking when another person's mouth is doing that sort of thing to you. 

Maybe neither of them really knows what they're doing. An evening once spent trying to download AV clips onto Haru's phone mostly ended up with a lot of buffering, data limits reached, and Makoto peeking through mortified fingers while Haruka looked at the tiny, pixelated people on the screen like he was studying for an exam. But it doesn't matter; nothing and no one could ever make him feel any better than this. 

He sits up just enough to let him reach for Haruka, brushing dark bangs back from the other boy's face, touch his cheek, his shoulder, wordless gestures of affection because Makoto doesn't trust his voice and besides… he's not the only one well-versed in translation.

Haru looks slightly annoyed at all the distraction, but can't seem to help leaning a little into the touch when Makoto's fingers curl against his cheek. A muffled moan vibrates between their bodies, and Makoto figures if he'd heard that sound on the AVs – wet, and obscene and hungry – he might have combusted, but hearing it from Haru just makes his heart soar, pulse skipping as it pounds between his thighs. 

“Not just me…” He shakes his head, winding trembling fingers into the soft strands of Haruka’s hair, urging his head up. “I want you to feel good too.”

Those blue eyes are a little glazed as Haru nods, carelessly dragging his thumb over his lower lip, wet and shiny and just slightly puffy. Makoto’s cock gives a little jerk in sympathy, the echoes of those lips still so fresh he can feel the soft pressure. “Okay.”

_Haru…_

It has to be something that won’t put too much strain on Haruka, he thinks, not totally sure how he can think _at all_ when even the weight of Haru’s gaze on his body feels like a physical touch. He’s proud that his voice only wavers a little when he says, “…lie down?”

Haru’s usually a few steps ahead of him anyway, but Makoto still finds himself flustered at the way the other boy catches on to the awkward suggestion. Sitting back just long enough to kick off his pants with that same ‘now you see them, now you don’t’ magic trick that makes Makoto wonder whether Haru’s clothes even have buttons and zippers or just… Velcro, for convenience, he stretches out on the rumpled sheets, ankles tucked against the pillows. 

This looked a little less tricky on the AV clips too, but now he's starting to wonder whether that might've been because the file froze somewhere around the time they explained the logistics of it. 

He has to bend his back a little to make it work, curling in on himself so that he can reach Haru without making the other boy have to crane his neck. He knows it's impossible to do anything without Haruka noticing, but when his reprimand is the hot breath of a disgruntled sigh licking the length of his cock, he thinks the punishment is worth it. 

“I’ll be fine.” He puts on a goofy smile as he looks down, just to see Haruka roll his eyes. “I’ve been training to strengthen my back, remember?”

“Yeah, but you weren’t training for _this_.”

That’s a very good thing, he thinks, skimming his hands along Haruka’s thighs. The stripping is bad enough; he’s not sure he could cope if Haru threatened to do this in public pools. His legskin is tight but it's not made of steel and if he starts thinking about Haru's fingers stroking him the way they are now, then…

_We'd get thrown out. For life._

It's a little weird trying to do this upside down. He hears Haruka's breath hitch as Makoto's fingers curve against his hip, leaning in to nip at the sharp, sweeping angle of Haru's hipbone, and for a while he's content with just tracing wet patterns on pale skin with the tip of his tongue, cheek nuzzling Haru's cock. 

At least until Haru's displeasure at the teasing takes the form of hot, wet heat engulfing the tip of Makoto's cock and sucking hard. Taking the hint with a breathless chuckle, he silently urges Haru to bend and spread his knees, settling more snugly into the curve of his body. 

Haru really is beautiful in the water, he thinks, watching the carelessly graceful way the other boy moves. But he’s even more beautiful when he’s out of it. 

Pillowing his head against Haru’s inner thigh, Makoto sweeps his free hand over the other boy’s hip, the swell of his ass, the satin-soft skin at the juncture of his legs. Anywhere he can reach. Anywhere he can touch, and revere, and appreciate so that Haru knows there’s nothing about him Makoto doesn’t adore. Not the jumping into display pools at the hardware store. Not the mackerel addiction. Not even the things Haruka never told him. Nothing. 

Haruka squirms impatiently under the attention, losing his own pace and rhythm in favour of Makoto’s. He’ll make the best of it, because Haru’s bound to wrestle the control back from him sooner or later. 

He traces the tip of his tongue along the ridged underside of Haru’s cock, stroking loosely just to feel the slide of velvety skin. Kissing softly just beneath the head, he can hear his heartbeat pounding in his head, and Haruka’s pulse thudding on his tongue as Makoto takes him in. 

It’s unintentional, the pleased moan that rumbles in his throat as he rubs the flat of his tongue against Haru’s slit. He’s not playing dirty, he’s just _glad._ Glad that Haru trusts him this much, glad that he’s being given a chance to show Haru just how much Makoto wants to make him happy. 

So he’s not really expecting the way Haru’s hips jerk with an instinctive snap of pleasure, the lips around his own cock going slack as the other boy gasps. The clumsy thrust drives Haruka deeper, the tip of his cock dragging along the roof of Makoto’s mouth. 

“Makoto—”

“Nnn.” He shakes his head as best he can, sliding a hand around Haru’s thigh to anchor him close. He’s nowhere near good enough at this to actually take Haruka deep – Haru’s the one with the better capacity for holding his breath anyway, but Makoto won’t let him try – but judging from the way the other boy shudders, just swallowing with Haru’s cock nudging the back of his throat feels good. 

Haruka retaliates by sucking harder, head bobbing, sweat-damp strands of black hair clinging to Makoto’s thigh. It's a mistake trying to look down, but he does it anyway, watching the muscles in Haru's jaw work and those lips stretched around him. 

And as distracted as he is by the visuals to go along with the feeling, he barely notices Haruka slipping one hand back between his thighs until he feels knowing, inquisitive fingers spreading him open to the touch.

He tries mumbling “Haru!” but it’s hard with his mouth full, and in the end all he manages is a low, shaky groan as Haruka presses just the pad of his fingertip against him, tracing slow, feather-light circles. And it’s just as well that he can’t talk, Makoto thinks, because “Do it… please…” is on the tip of his tongue. 

Maybe tomorrow. After the race. 

He tries his best to match Haruka's rhythm, mirroring every sweep of his tongue, every hollowing of his cheeks, every low groan that just sends sparks dancing to the base of Makoto's spine. The sheets are damp beneath them, Makoto’s t-shirt clinging to his skin. And he can’t quite hold Haru the way he wants to like this, but he can reach down just as Haruka’s free hand reaches up, their fingers locking. 

Haru pulls back just before Makoto’s too far gone to stop. Sweat gleaming on his skin like the shimmer of drying pool water, even he’s too breathless to manage more than a terse “Together.” 

Makoto nods. “Yeah…”

They end up half sprawled cross-legged in each other’s laps, and it might not be comfortable and it might not look as artfully positioned as the pixely people in the AV, but it doesn’t matter because the only thing Makoto can feel is Haruka anyway. Haru’s lips on his, tongue purposeful and aggressive as it flicks and suckles at Makoto’s. Haruka, straining hot and hard against Makoto’s palm. Haruka’s hands on him, wet and squeezing and sometimes losing his grip altogether because neither of them are paying the sort of attention necessary to make this look clever. 

He doesn’t need clever. He doesn’t need anything but Haruka. 

“I love you,” he whispers between kisses that are little more than gasps and accidental touches, “Haru…”

“Nn…” Haruka nods, unhesitant and unflinching despite the fact that embarrassing confessions don’t tend to come as easily to him as they do for Makoto. “Yeah…”

His chest feels tight at the realization he can taste both of them in the kiss, and all he wants to do is hold on. Haruka’s making those quiet, helpless noises the closer he gets and Makoto’s just panting his name over and over until the syllables don’t even make sense anymore. The bed’s creaking softly, sheets rustling in sync with their ragged breathing, and the desperation’s almost painful when Haru slams a hand against Makoto’s chest like he’s reaching for the pool wall, fingers gripping the front of his shirt and kissing him hard to muffle the cries as sticky heat spills over his fingers. 

It’s not a race, but Makoto’s a closer second here than he would be if they were in the water. Haruka’s shudders, fingers squeezing and relaxing as the climax shivers through him, is enough to trigger his own. He feels every muscle coil and release as he comes, staining Haru’s hand and the hem of his own shirt and still trying not to break the kiss even though it’s wet and messy and breathless. 

For a long moment they just catch their breath – “You’d be in better shape if you hadn’t tried running up those steps…” “…Haru!” – foreheads touching, noses nuzzling. Makoto’s about to reach up and brush his fingers against Haruka’s cheek when he remembers they’re still slippery.

He blinks at the translucent moisture coating his fingers for a moment, then catches Haru’s gaze before licking the edge of his thumb experimentally. 

“You’re right,” he says, voice a little hoarse. “Salty.”

Haruka huffs, flushing a little darker as he looks away. Makoto laughs, wiping his hand on his shirt before winding his arms around Haru’s shoulders again, holding him close. 

He’d take off his t-shirt to clean them both off, but Haruka’s a warm and boneless weight against his chest and Makoto’s loathe to move him at all. They’ll both be suffering tomorrow if he doesn’t, though. 

“You’ll catch a cold if you sleep like this,” he says, smiling when Haru just grumbles something unflattering under his breath and snuggles closer, hands locking stubbornly at the small of Makoto’s back. “Come on, let’s go clean up first.”

One bonus of being in a hotel is that no one asks why you’re taking another shower in the middle of the night, _and_ the water’s still hot. 

By the time they get out – it might've been sooner if not for the impromptu make-out session that only started because Haruka looked a little _too_ happy to be under the water… -- Makoto’s phone is blinking with an unread message. 

“See?” Haruka stretches, muscles languid and fluid as he flops onto his bed. The mostly neat one, not the one that looks like it’s been humped by an orca. “I told you he’d be fine.” 

“Nagisa’s threatening to steal his glasses and tie him to the bed with his backpack straps so he doesn’t leave again.” Makoto reads from the text. “I, uh… does that count as ‘fine’…?”

Haruka snorts. “It does. Trust me.”

Makoto chuckles, glancing at the mess they’d made of the other bed as he turns off the lamp between the two. 

“Even you don’t want to sleep on the wet spot, huh?”

He can hear Haruka grimace. “That’s gross.” 

“Heh…”

Makoto would though, not wanting to presume Haruka actually means for them to _sleep_ together until the other boy definitely shifts over to one side of the mattress, leaving the space behind him empty in silent invitation.

He glances at the clock as he climbs beneath the sheets, spooning against Haruka’s back, his nose nuzzling the still-damp black hair at the nape of Haru’s neck. It’s later than they’d planned, but it’s probably better to feel bone-tired for a good reason than tossing and turning for hours. There isn’t a twitch of tension in the way Haruka leans back against him when Makoto drapes an arm, lazily possessive, over his waist. There’s just tired, and sleepy, and content, and he can’t think of much better preparation for tomorrow than that. 

Whatever happens, at least he knows they had this. At least there was this moment when Haruka didn’t need to worry about a single thing. 

And he’s not sure whether he says it enough that Haru knows beyond any doubt, so he closes his eyes, lips pressing a smile against the other boy’s hair as he whispers into the quiet, enveloping dark.

“I’m glad you’re here for me too.”


End file.
